


Coastguard

by Inkyfingerstoo



Category: New Girl
Genre: Friendship, Friendship/Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-05
Updated: 2014-05-05
Packaged: 2018-01-22 01:02:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,805
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1570190
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Inkyfingerstoo/pseuds/Inkyfingerstoo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Coastguard def. n a civilian…keeping watch…in order to assist people or ships in danger</p>
            </blockquote>





	Coastguard

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LadyKarinsky](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyKarinsky/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Boat In A Bottle](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/48302) by LadyKarinsky. 



_“What are you, the coastguard?”_

Winston snapped Nick’s door closed behind him. What was he gonna do with this kid? This was his brother, he needed help and Winston was determined to figure out how to give it. He’s usually pretty good at it, especially when it comes to these two. Been subtly helping them find their way to each other since the beginning.

See, he knew Nick was in love with her before the dummy did himself. Day one, back in America for the first time in three years, horribly hungover, getting woken by a blue-eyed white girl singing in his face. Oh man it had been so good to be back with Nick. They’re what you call true blue friends. Years could go by without communication but the second they’re reunited it’s same old same old. And that’s how it was that first 24 hours back. Only he noticed something new in his Chicago brother from another mother. A miniscule amount of weight that he always carried on his shoulders was gone. He’d see Nick inhale every time Jess stepped into a room. His eyes would linger on her as she walked away. Sitting at the island he would lean toward her, but just barely; only those who knew Nick, knew his postures and body language would pick up on it. But he could also see how much Nick was fighting it. The extreme length he would go to deny the development of deeper feelings, or even deny acknowledging basic feelings for this strange new girl was classic Nick Miller. So Winston did what he always does. He watched, waited, and when it was necessary he stepped in to assist his emotionally inept friend (the first time being Steve and Bre’s wedding).

This definitely felt like another opportunity to step in…but first…he had to pee.

“Nun nun na naa na,” he hummed under his breath, “so call me, baby,” pushing open the bathroom door he stopped in his tracks. Jess was staring into the mirror; wide slightly red-rimmed eyes darted to him.  
  
“Hey, Winston!”  
  
An involuntary sigh escaped him. “Jess, come on,” he replied in a deadpan, acknowledging the false cheer in her voice.  
  
Her shoulders slumped and she turned to face him.  
  
“I thought you were at the bar.”  
  
“I’m headed there now.”  
  
“Good, good, that’s good….right?”  
  
Jess breathed out a laugh. “Yeah, lady friend support and alcohol, all good things.”  
  
She gave him a quick smile which dropped off as she walked passed him.  
  
After the talk with Nick, knowing now that the relationship had ended hastily and that it wasn't what either of them wanted (just what they thought they were supposed to do), Winston gathered his thoughts and went for it.  
  
“Hey, have you…I don’t know…thought about talking to Nick…like really talk?”  
  
She faced sideways, her head turned to him, a befuddled expression on her face.  
  
“I just think you should…just go in there…and talk.”  
  
“About what?”  
  
“You know what, Ms. Day.”  
  
She took on a thoughtful expression, gazing at the floor and biting her lip.  
  
“Um, Jess…I really gotta pee.”  
  
“Oh! Right! Sorry!” A blush spread on her cheeks as she hastily pushed open the door.  
  
Winston smiled, shaking his head before turning to the urinal to take care of business.

* * *

  
Business done, he headed to his room before backing up quickly. Creeping up to the corner of the laundry closet he peeked out to see Jess pacing in front of Nick’s closed bedroom door.  
  
She took a deep breath, her hand raised in a fist to knock when the sound of smashing glass caused her to freeze. Flinching as the sound of the second glass is smashed, she took a step back from the door and as the third and fourth bottles shattered, so did her confidence. Winston can do nothing but watch as she gathered her purse from the rack and fled the apartment.  
  
As the front door closed, Nick’s door flew open, the man in question stomping out with only one sock on and a bunch of bloody tissues in his right hand.  
  
“Nick, what the hell?” Winston questioned, coming to stand in front of the laundry closet, which seems to be Nick’s destination. Tearing open the doors he yanked out the broom and duster, a look of determination on his face.  
  
“Seriously, Nick, you’re-“ But he was already turned away, heading back to his room.  
  
“I got this, Winston,” he called over his shoulder.  
  
 _I don’t know if you do, man._

* * *

  
Once Nick left the apartment, Winston went to his room to survey the damage. The small trash can by the door was filled with glass shards, clumped up balls of toothpicks, tape and glue, a bloody sock and bloody tissues. There was no way in hell ‘ol ‘centipedes under the bed Miller’ cleaned up every piece of glass so Winston took it upon himself to vacuum the room, making sure to pick those minuscule shards you never find until they’re lodged deep into the bottom of your foot.  
  
Nick seemed to have smashed up every one his boat bottles and Winston can honestly say he’s not sorry to see them go.  
  
As he finished up vacuuming near the closet he noticed one of the freed ‘boats’ caught in Nick’s shoe. Bending to pick it up, something else occurred to him. There was a large empty spot in the closet, a line of dust clearly forming a large square.  
  
Holy Shit. Nick’s box was missing! Standing up with the saddest excuse for a boat between his thumb and pointer finger, Winston couldn't help but laugh.  
  
Maybe there’s still hope yet for Nick Miller.

* * *

  
 _Where the hell has Nick been?_  
  
Winston had barely seen the dope in the past week. Catching glimpses of him either coming or going.  
  
It was weird. Nick wouldn't be in bed…er…on the couch by the time he himself went to bed and the couch was still empty when he got up. But there was evidence that he had been there, judging by the increasing number of empty beer bottles collecting on the coffee table.  
  
Taking his lead from Schmidt (who had been subtly picking up after their two struggling roommates since the break-up); Winston began collecting said bottles and dropped them in the recycling bin, the image of a smiling tree made out of the cardboard from the beer cases staring back at him (a Jessica Day original).  
  
The clink of beers was drowned out by the front door being slammed open.  
  
"Hey! What did I say about slamming doors!" He comes out of the kitchen in time to see Nick’s flanneled back kick open his door, a large cardboard box in his arms.  
  
"Hey man, is that your-"  
  
Nick’s bedroom door slamming closed was his only answer.  
  
“What in the…”  
  
Before he could investigate further (he’s been trying to infuse more police jargon into everyday life…the way that blonde chick did with legal speak in that Blonde Lawyer movie), a shrill whistle pierced the air.  
  
“Winston! You sorry excuse for a cadet, you are 7 minutes late for your evening run!”  
  
Why he thought the second time around of Coach being his personal trainer would be better was just dumb.

* * *

  
45 minutes of running and 100 burpees later, Winston lay prone on the couch unable to move. The TV wasn't even on (pressing the buttons to turn it on would hurt too much). Staring at the ceiling, the divots from Sky Knife clearly visible, he mused that he should probably get up and shower, plus he couldn't pass out here, seeing as it was technically Nick’s bed.  
  
The sound of jangling keys indicated someone was back but whoever it was had neglected to close the door behind them.  
  
“Hey! Fergy Ferg is gonna get out! Close the damn front door!”  
  
“Sorry, man,” came the rushed reply from Nick. Winston lifted his head just in time to see his roommate head out the front door, the ever present cardboard box in his arms.  
  
“Where you goin?” He called after him.  
  
“Roof.”  
  
He knew that tone of voice. That was TCB Nick Miller.  
  
 _Takin Care of Business_ , he thought with a smile as the front door closed.  
  
“Alright time to shower, Winnie,” with a great heave he rose from the couch, thinking maybe he’ll just sleep in the shower under the warm water.

* * *

  
Some people might feel ashamed for eating cake alone at a kitchen island in the dark with a spork (why do they even have these?) but Winston was not one of them. It was a reward for all those damn burpees Coach made him do.  
  
Since the break-up, Jess’s baking had increased exponentially. There had been some confectionery treat on the island every day this week.  
  
“Funfetti-ingggg, Winston is about to eat some funfetiiiii.” Taking a large bite he continued to hum his cake eating tune as he chewed, when the sound of a door opening cut off his song.  
  
(Ok, maybe he was a little ashamed).  
  
Gulping the cake down, he leaned to his right to see Jess slowly step out of Nick’s room in a pink robe and moccasin slippers; her brow furrowed as she read something from her phone.  
  
She turned to her right and Winston held his breath before releasing it in a gush when she turned right again for the front door.  
  
Once she was out of view he jumped off the stool to shuffle quickly to the front door. He caught sight of her just as the door was closing…cracking open the roof access door.  
  
“Awww yeah!” Bringing both arms up in a power fist he began to rock back and forth in a victory dance but stopped suddenly when his tired muscles protested.  
  
Groaning, Winston turned around, forgetting the cake and headed to his room, hoping whatever Nick had planned was a success. He was fairly confident. He knew TCB Nick Miller when he saw him.  
  
He collapsed on to his bed with a satisfied moan, reaching over to blindly smack at the light to his right. The yellow glow in his room blinked out and the green haze of his assistive light filled the room (it’s not a night light, he has midnight pee runs and he doesn't want to go stubbing a toe).  
Sighing, he flung his right arm over his eyes only to feel something pull at the skin on his forearm. Lifting his head he plucked the clump of toothpicks, glue and masking tape from his arm.  
  
Twirling the demented excuse for a boat by the tip of a toothpick between his fingers a smile spread on his lips.  
  
Maybe he’ll frame this bad boy and give it to them as a wedding gift…


End file.
